Chapter 41. The City Speaks Back

The Oath Trial was older than the Conclave. Older than the First Luna. Maybe older than our language. Some say it was how we learned to tell each other the difference between the dark that wants to be a room and the dark that wants to be a throat.

They held it in the Echo Amphitheater at the cliff’s bend, where the river is loud but not rude. The floor was marked with concentric circles that always made me think of a storm seen from above. The speakers stand at the center; the city stands on the steps and agrees or doesn’t, out loud. The record isn’t ink. It’s echoes.

I took my place at the center with Syra at my shoulder, Mavienne at my left, Kael one pace back because we had decided to be precise about our bodies even when words weren’t enough. The First Luna stood with the Conclave in the crescent. Vara took a position not-quite-inside Dusk Spire’s designated space—a knife near a plate without touching it.

“Charge,” Mara said, and the word curdled the air. “Brea